


Accident

by brightlycoloredteacups



Category: Vikings - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 09:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlycoloredteacups/pseuds/brightlycoloredteacups
Summary: You get into an accident, good thing Ivar is there to help you.





	Accident

All it takes is a moment for your entire life to change. Good or bad. On this day change hits you, literally.

You don’t remember much about the accident, just that you were happy with your little coffee and ready to go home and cuddle up under the blanket. It was winter, so it was the perfect time for it. A good book and dim lighting, and you’d be most content underneath the warm covers. The only other problem? Winter is a great time for icy roads.

You made sure to check before you crossed the street for cars, you always did. None were coming, so you began to cross the street. Through a combination of bad luck and awful conditions, the silver car that was supposed to stop at the top of the hill came careening down the slope, and right into you.

It was strange. You don’t remember much, the screams, the honking, being disappointed when you saw your coffee sail into the air. Maybe it was too much shock all once for you brain to handle, because you sure as hell didn’t remember any pain with that initial hit. When you ask about it later, your doctor tells you that the impact knocked you out cold. Which, he considered was a good thing, considering how extensive your injuries were.

It was after you woke up you registered the pain. Mostly, you were scared, everything was so white when you opened your eyes, harsh lights and an incredible thirst. You tell yourself not to panic as you look about your room. There are at least splashes of color. An awful painting on the wall to make it feel more homey. And flowers. Bunches and bunches of flowers. You groan and try to sit up, but to no avail, it’s too painful.

That’s when the nurse walks in. She’s a bright thing, with blond hair and a pep in her step that tells you she was made for caring for people. As she rounds your bed to check your vitals, she gives you a sparing glance. “Oh!” She smiles sweetly at you. “You’re up! That’s so good, your boyfriend will be so happy to hear it.” You frown, boyfriend? Last you checked, you were very, very single.

“What happened?” You asked ignoring her request. “You were hit by a car my dear. Very nasty business, but you’re on the mend.” You look down at your body, you try to wiggle your toes. Your left foot works just fine, but when you try your right one, you can’t help but groan. “It’s alright dear,” The nurse says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You’re on the strongest painkillers we can give you.”

“What’s wrong with my leg?” You ask, bottom lip quivering. “It’s broken in several places.” She says softly. “As is your hip, your left arm and right wrist. The good thing is, despite all that and a concussion, you don’t have any long-lasting injuries that will prevent you from living life to the fullest once you’re all healed. You may think about going to a physical therapist though, for your hip and wrist.”

“Thank you,” You whisper. “Thank you for telling me.” She smiles at you. “I don’t make it a habit of keeping things from my patients if I can.”

You’re getting ready to ask her how long it will take for you to heal fully when the door opens. You look. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen enters, holding a bouquet of flowers. Your jaw drops. He’s got black hair, sharp cheekbones and an even sharper jaw. The shirt he’s wearing is tight enough to show off his muscles. “How is she?” H asks, rushing to the nurse. The woman smiles and looks at you. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

The man zeroes in on you, and you feel heat creep up your neck and into your cheeks. “You’re awake!” He says, coming to sit at your side. He places the flowers unceremoniously on the little table next to you. “I’ll leave you two alone.” Says the nurse, slipping quietly from the room. “I am so sorry Miss.” He says looking over you. You’re too stunned by his beauty to even speak. “There was so much ice and I tried to swerve and-” He stops, not sure what to say.

You managed to find his voice after some time. “It’s alright,” you assure him. “It was just an accident, right?” You were never one to hold grudges. Besides, it wasn’t like he was trying to kill you. He nods. “I will pay for everything.” He tells you. “All your hospital bills, your medications, anything.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You tell him. “No, it isn’t fine,” He says. “It’s the least I can do for putting you in this situation.” You don’t say anything. You can’t really, the way he frowns has you too distracted. “I’m Ivar Lothbrok.” He finally says. You tell him your name, quiet as a mouse. A Lothbrok? No wonder he’s offering to pay for everything. The Lothbrok’s owned the town you lived in. He could drop fifty thousand and it still wouldn’t make a dent in the bank account, of that you were sure. “I know,” He tells you. “You know?” You’re a little scare now, how the hell would he know your name? “I sat behind you in history.” He explains. “Professor Smith. I don’t expect you to remember me, I was always in the back.”

“I’m sorry,” You whisper. “I don’t remember.” He gives you a winning smile, as if to say ‘no worries.’

You look around the room, things becoming awkwardly quiet. “Um, did you bring all the flowers?” You ask. “I did.” He says. “My mother always said flowers brightened up any place. I didn’t know what color you liked, so I brought a variety.”

“They’re all very beautiful.” You tell him. He nods, looking you over. The look is intense. You try to ignore it, take in the little things about the room, but it’s hard. “We tried contacting your family.” He says. “Some friends. They must be worried about you.”

“Oh, um,” You look at him, trying to figure out how to put it. “I don’t really have family,” You tell him. “Or friends.”

“It’s hard to believe someone doesn’t have any friends.” You shrug as best you can, but wince with the pain. “I have acquaintances I occasionally go shopping with.” He merely stares. Things go quiet again. It makes you nervous for him to watch you so, but after an hour, you fall right back to sleep. When you wake up again, the room is dark and he is gone.

He comes back the next day, and the next, and the next. In fact, he comes back every day until you’re finally released. You figure that would be the last you saw of Ivar. Apparently, fate had other plans for you. The nurse called him the moment your release papers were signed, so instead of a cab, Ivar showed up. You tried to convince him you were alright, you could manage by yourself, but as always he insisted.

He took you home, helped you settle in, and stayed until you were asleep. He continued to visit. It was once a week now, instead of everyday. It was strange to have someone in your apartment constantly, but you didn’t mind it. He was quiet and never stayed more than a few hours. Long enough to make you something to eat and that you were doing well in your therapy.

In fact, this willingness to take care of you was how you found yourself in your current situation. One of your female acquaintances had been kind enough to help you wash up, and now your hair was wet and in desperate need of a brush. Ivar had arrived just as your friend was making an excuse to leave. Seeing you struggle with the comb, he had taken over for you. He was ever gentle, tugging through your locks. The pleasure you derived from it nearly puts you to sleep. “You don’t have to keep coming over.” You tell him, playing with the hem of your t-shirt, trying to stay awake. “I want to keep coming over.” He admits.

“Why?”

“Because I like you.”

“You mean you feel guilty.” That was the only reason he could be doing this. He may have nearly killed you with his car, but at least he eased his own conscience afterwards. Ivar begins to braid your hair as best he can to keep it from your face. “At first, yes,” He admits. “But then I got to know you. The more I knew, the more I liked.” He finishes the braid, tying it off. He sits next to you and grabs your hand. It’s out of the cast now, but you still have a long road ahead of you.

You look at your hand in his. The rough pad of his thumb running back and forth over your skin. The tingles this produces travels up your arm and down your spin. It’s so pleasant and warm, you don’t want him to let go. “I think you’re beautiful, and so amazing, and,” He pauses. You look up at him. He’s staring off into space, face red. “I just really like you.” He whispers. You smile, nudging him. He looks at you, face worried. “I really like you too.” You say. He gives a relieved sigh. “Does this mean I can kiss you?” He asks. “Because I’ve been wanting to do it for a while.” Your smile is positively blinding. “I’d like that,” You whisper.

Ivar leans in and brushes his lips against yours. The kiss is electrifying. His lips are soft and warm, malleable but immovable at the same time. His taste is distinctively him, sweet and tantalizing. He shifts to bring a hand to your face, running a thumb over your cheek. You deepen the kiss, but hiss when you put too much pressure on your arm in an effort to get closer to him. He pulls back, chuckling. “Perhaps we can continue this later?” He says. “When you feel much better.” You growl but have no choice but to agree. In your heart, you feel that later can’t come soon enough.


End file.
